


They Breathed Together

by mikeymagee



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Rarepair, Rhodey Birthday Week 2018, RhodeyBirthdayWeek, blackinfanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16206080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: James Rhodes is still learning to deal with his new disability. And, he meets a tough as nails cop who shows him a thing or two.





	They Breathed Together

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the RhodeyBirthdayWeek gift exchange for bidisasterscottlang, who loves rarepair fics! I hope they like it :)

Rhodey had managed to make a name for himself with the Avengers. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. There was a small dispute about the Sokovian Accords, a skirmish with Captain America, and a falling out that the country was still learning to move on from. 

 

And James Rhodes was in more pieces than he cared to admit. In the middle of a sky chase, there was an accident, his boosters lost power. And he fell. The world became a blur of blue sky, white cloud, and Tony’s frantic screams.   When Rhodes awoke…

 

“Shit,” Rhodes really hated going to these kinds of things. True, after his accident he no longer had the use of his legs. But, all things considering, Rhodey felt like he was coping fine. He didn’t need to be cooped up in group therapy, swapping stories about missing limbs, ghost pains, and smell of broken flesh that seemed to haunt his dreams. But Tony insisted. So did Pepper. And so did the government. 

 

“Just do it for me,” Tony said. “And afterwards, we’ll go to a bar. Hell, I fucking buy you a bar and we can just talk like old times, okay?” Tony Stark always had this strange whine in his voice whenever he pleaded with Rhodes. 

 

Rhodey just rolled his eyes and found himself sitting in a circle, his arms crossed and his temples grey. He was getting too old for this. The group was led by an old veteran. An old man with a stump where his hand was supposed to be. There were wrinkles all along his cheeks, a mole along the base of his neck and a chipped tooth that winked every time he spoke. 

 

“Welcome,” he said. “It’s really great to see all of you here. My name’s Mike.”

 

The place smelled of old bandages and abandoned pain. Rhodey didn’t to know whether to cry or look downward. There wasn’t a protocol for any of this. Were there instructions? What the hell was he--was any of them--supposed to do?

 

“I know,” Mike began, “This ain’t easy for anyone. It sure wasn’t for me when I came back from ‘Nam. I had a buddy who did a few tours in Afghanistan. He lost his entire right leg and a few fingers.” Mike spoke with an easy resilience. A kind of buoyancy that people brag about. He had done this before. He had told this story a million times, Rhodey could hear it in the man’s inflection. “He came to one of these meetings, that’s how we met.” Mike raised his stump hand. “I’m not gonna say that this group is gonna fix all yer problems because that’s horseshit and we all know it.” 

 

Small chuckles bubbled from around the room.

 

“But,” Mike continued, “Talking might help at little bit. At least you’ll have something fun to talk about at the bar tonight.”

  
  


Well, at least Mike had a sense of humor about all of this. 

 

They went around the room, introduced themselves. Told their stories. There was a man named Juan who lost the use of his left leg in Iraq. There was a police woman named Joan who lost her right eye during the Chitauri attack. And then…came someone new. 

 

A young black woman with hair that reached towards the ceiling stood up to take her turn. She stood as strong as a glass of imported wine. Her face shifted from nervous to steeled, as if she were trying to mask her own vulnerability. Rhodes had seen that same expression on Tony’s face for sometime, but her’s was in another league. She moved her face as effortlessly as pushing a button. “My name’s Mercedes Knight. Friends call me Misty. I work at the Harlem precinct.” 

 

A cop. That figures. 

 

Rhodey looked to her side, and saw a slender metal arm that slinked against her ribs. That was an impressive prosthetic. It was made, from what Rhodes could tell, of a refined metal. That thing could take a beating, and give one back with just as much force. 

 

“I…” Misty began, “Lost my arm while on duty. Some bastard with a sword thinkin’ he was Samurai Jack.” She shrugged, as if she were simply talking about a one night stand, or a sale at the market. “No big deal, just a hazard of the job.” 

 

Misty Knight’s eye darted around the room. From the black marks left behind by chairs, to the broken window pane at the far corner. From the glassed eyes of the other people...and then finally, they rested on Rhodey’s face. And Rhodey ran his hands down his own prosthetics. The mechanical legs Tony had made for him, and insisted he use. They were a small comfort, but a poor substitute for the feeling of warm socks on his feet, or rain water in his shoes.

 

“Thank you Misty,” Mike said. 

 

And she sat. 

  
  


After the meeting, Rhodey stuck around. He didn’t really have any place to go, or anything to do, and the last thing he wanted was to be bagerted by Tony about the meetings. What he saw. Who he met. What he did. How the prosthetic legs were treating him, and all else Tony could do to keep his mouth moving. Tony was a great guy, but sometime Rhodey just couldn’t deal with him.

 

People mingled. They swapped war stories, told jokes. It was a nice distraction.

 

“Hey,” came a long, lilt. 

 

Rhodey turned to see Misty Knight stand before him. 

 

“Ah,” Rhodey said, “Hello Officer.”

 

She chuckled, “Misty. Please. Ain’t you one of those Avenger types that fly around the city, while us mere mortals look on in amazement?” Misty asked.

 

“Well, I have been known to soar down Lennox Avenue from time to time.” He held out his hand, “But that  doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the importance of a proper introduction.” Rhodey smiled as Misty took his hand in hers. “James Rhodes. Colonel of the United States Air Force.”

 

“And War Machine, partner to the great Iron Man,” Misty finished. 

 

“Well, you’re one to talk, rumor has it you’re good chums with that bulletproof dude keeping Harlem safe.” 

 

Misty rolled her eyes, “You mean the bulletproof dude who’s as corny as a field in Kansas? Yeah, that’d be the one.”

 

Misty looked around and with a small look that seemed to say “You wanna get outta here?” The two smirked and walked off. 

 

* * *

  
  


Misty knew the area pretty well, and so she took Rhodey to this little corner bar on the outskirts of Harlem. It wasn’t nearly as popular as the Harlem’s Paradise place that every person in town seem to congregate at, but it was just the place for a quiet drink with a new friend; something Rhodey appreciated. 

 

“So,” Misty said. “What’s it like hanging with Thor and Captain America. And do they pick up the cheque when you guys are done tearing up the city streets?” She said it more like a statement than a question.

 

“Well, actually Tony’s the one who picks up most of the bills. We just kind of get stuck in the middle. Like-”

 

“Like with that whole Sokovia Accords thing. Right?” 

 

Rhodey flinched as if he had been struck in the face with one of Tony’s repulsor blasts. The entire Accords thing was an instance that Rhodey wished he could forget. Bearing arms against his own comrades, chasing down Capt. and his crew as if they were terrorists. But the fucked up thing was, that according to the law, they were. Captain America. The sentinel of Liberty. A terrorist. And then, there was what happened to his legs.  

 

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, “Just like the Accords thing. That...wasn’t one of our best moments.”

 

A song began to float through the heavy bar air.  _ Hello Stranger _ by Barbara Lewis, a soft introduction to a new friend, and a bold reformation of what Rhodey had forgotten he knew. He looked to Misty. Misty, who sat in the cold of the bar lights. Misty, who’s lips glossed over her drinking glass, and who’s eyes seemed to glint like a piece of shrapnel. There was danger and beauty in that stare. A warmth that was only matched by a new flame on an old candle wick. 

 

“You wanna dance?” she asked. And without waiting for an answer, she took Rhodey’s hand in her prosthetic and led him to the center. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and hated to be without it. 

 

She wrapped her arm around Rhodey’s waist, and her smooth hand graced the brace that encircled Rhodey’s legs. Rhodey wished he could feel her fingertips on his hips. 

 

“So,” she began, “What was it like...readjusting?”    

 

Rhodey just chuckled. “I’ll tell you when I figure that out.” Rhodey wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this, or how to adjust to his new life. There were times he just wanted to forgo Tony’s prosthetic and just travel in a wheelchair. The guys in the Air Force kept questioning whether or not he was still fit for his job. And then there were the questions about his sex life. 

 

“I-I know they all mean well,” Rhodey said aloud without even meaning to.

 

“But sometimes it’s a little overbearing?” Misty rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Same thing here. The guys down at the department can’t seem to keep their eyes off of my missing arm. I’ve got people trying to chain me to some desk job like a dog while they’re out there, tearing up the streets trying to act like-”

 

“Like they can do our jobs better than we can. Like us losing limbs means we’ve lost our abilities to be useful.” Rhodey finished. 

 

Misty smiled. She leaned in close and whispered, “You wanna get some coffee?”

 

* * *

  
  


James Rhodes couldn’t remember the last time he had been with company. Even before his accident, he had always allowed work to get in the way of going out. And after the loss of his legs, he wasn’t sure he could even experience relationships anymore. But that was wrong. 

 

Misty took Rhodey too an old motel out by the Harlem Police department, it was one of the places they used for busts and stake outs. But tonight was different for both of them. No gun busts tonight. No drug raids, or stake outs. Just the idea of another body, slicked skin, and the motions of relearning. 

 

Rhodey carefully took pulled his shirt over his head, felt the fabric tickle his chin. He opened up his leg braces, and slid himself onto the bed. There was so much newness to this. So much he had to learn. No, he couldn’t feel Misty’s palm pressing against his legs. No, he couldn’t feel drops of her sweat she unbuckled his pants. No, he couldn’t feel the cold of his belt buckle as it licked his skin and lost itself on the motel floor. 

 

But he could feel her breath on his chest. See the slick of her back as she arched. She removed her prosthetic arm, and it fell to the floor. “That damn thing just gets in the way sometimes.”

 

“Right?” Rhodey agreed,  “I swear some days I just want to leave my braces at home and just wheel around in a chair.” It was strange knowing that, where flesh used to be, now metal casings, and steel hardware ruled. 

 

“C-can you still…” Misty trailed off as she cupped her hands near his pelvis. He knew what she was driving at. The same thing Tony always wanted to ask him, but could never work up the nerve to.

 

“It still works, if that’s what you’re asking. But not the way it used to.” Rhodey could get erect, but not the way he had learned to. When he was a kid all it took was one dirty thought, a slight glance at a woman’s neck, or a long dry spell. Now, no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t work. He looked at porn, he flipped through magazines. But it wasn’t a matter of thought, instead it was something different. Something he still wasn’t sure how to control. 

 

When he was still in the hospital, if a nurse bathed him enough, stimulated his lower area enough, sometimes there would be a reaction. A stiffening that he could not feel, or control, but at least it was something. 

 

“Well,” Misty said, “There are other ways to connect with people.” 

 

She reached her lips up to his cheek. Rolled her hand over his chest. Licked his earlobe. Buried her chin in his neck. There were other ways to connect with people. Other ways to feel the sweet stir that only another human body could create. 

 

And they breathed as one.  

  
  
  



End file.
